Lucrative Behaviour
by Calex
Summary: A woman runs away from her past in order to heal, only to encounter someone she has given up hope of ever seeing again. It’s not a battle of time and skill and she races to find the killer of her husband and also to find out what has happened to cause s


Author: Calex

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is all the property of Joss Whedon. However, I do own Carmen and Jamie.

Rating: R, for later chapters.

Summary: A woman runs away from her past in order to heal, only to encounter someone she has given up hope of ever seeing again. It's not a battle of time and skill and she races to find the killer of her husband and also to find out what has happened to cause several unexplained things.

Dedications: To Nicki (Lunatic Ladybug) and Jas, hope you guys like this. I kinda just babbled on and this looks to have a plot. Which only means that it's probably going to end up plotless. However, this time I will try. Hope that you guys will like this. And to everyone who's reading, hope you guys like this, too. This is my first fandom I've written other than HP. I've also got some original stuff up in FictionPress.Net under the same name. 

Spoilers: Throughout the show. Some stuff from Buffy, including season 6. Light mentions of Anita Blake. 

Note: IMPORTANT!!!! I haven't really seen AtS, I read some of the books, I watched a few of the earlier episodes…but none of the new ones. So all the info I'm using (which is going to be very vague) is from Fanfics and stuff. Now, I know that some people don't like this, that they believe that you should only write fics that you know, so if you're one of them…don't bother. I know this doesn't really sound like any of the characters off of AtS. This fic is just something I got in my head and refused to budge. However, if you like it, please tell and I'll continue. Feedback is duly welcomed.

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_Lucrative Behaviour_

_Chapter one: Moving Forward_

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She was new in town, but she already got the wonky vibes from the town. There was something very not right about the place, something she didn't like, not one bit. It set some kind of internal radar constantly blaring, made her tense and on her guard. She hated feeling like this, she had moved partly to get rid of stress, not add to it. But no, this was bad. Worse than home. The things that inhabited this city wasn't fully creatures of the day, there were some monsters in the dark as well.

            She had just moved to L.A. and the transition wasn't as smooth and comfortable as she would have liked. She could feel that something was up, that something big was going to happen, and soon. Very soon. So she had dressed in her basic uniform of a black high neck, sleeveless top in a soft, clingy material and dark, skin tight faded jeans and a pair of leather boots. A black leather coat that ended mid calf completed her image. A piece of polished tiger's eye on a leather strip was tied as a choker around her neck, her waist length black hair laid between her shoulder blades in a French plait, the two streaks of white at her temples gleaming in the moonlight. A slightly longer silver cross rested between her breasts over her top, a pentagram hidden under her shirt. She had a gun strapped to her hip, a Browning .9 mm. A sheath was on her left calf with a highly polished and sharp silver dagger. A wooden katana made of lignum vitae on her back.

            She was walking with the shadows, melting away from the people. Kinda hard when you're in a city like Los Angeles, also hard when you're armed to the teeth. But as she was going past a building, she felt the feeling intensifying. It was truly horrific and wonderful at the same time, a strange cold shiver going through her spine, electrifying her whole body. She looked at the discreet name next to the building. 

            "Wolfram and Hart."

            The name was familiar. Intense. In that moment, she made a decision that would change her life forever: she went in.

            The décor of the place was tasteful, rich. Immaculately done in steel and brick, very modern meets Happy Days era. Except they managed to pull it off, and well. Pictures hung on the walls, tasteful black and white shots of landscape, buildings, former Chairmen and paintings. She noticed a favourite of hers as well, Renoir; Umbrellas. She felt a smile curve her lips. 

            Even at night the place looked efficient and busy. There were people in suits all over the place. Some people looked up when she entered, the others didn't bother. She walked over to the reception; the woman was on the phone. She looked down; on the desk was a list of names. One name in particular stood out to her and she frowned. Again, it sounded so familiar. And she wasn't one to ignore a hint like that.

            "May I help you?" the receptionist asked, pleasantly. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties with brown hair styled in a chignon and a dove grey suit. A discreet strand of pearls was around her neck, matching studs on her ears. She looked up from the names, unsmiling.

            "I want to see Mr. Angel."

            "Do you have an appointment?"

            The friendly tone was replaced by a business like one. Even before that, her face had flickered at the name, the face becoming closed off. There was something that she didn't like about Mr. Angel, it seemed.

            "No."

            "I'll call up."

            She nodded and leaned against the counter and surveyed the room again. It had cleared out, some. A lot of people were leaving, carrying briefcases, talking on cell phones, striding out without a last look. All of them were young, intelligent looking. There were a few distinguished older ones, each one of them gave her a feeling that they would be ruthless in court.

            "Mr. Angel will see you."

            She turned around, looked at the receptionist. Nodded. The receptionist gestured towards the side of the room where the elevators were.

            "50th floor. That's his department. His secretary will show you in."

            She nodded her thanks and started walking towards the lifts. The doors opened with a discreet "swish" sound. She got in, pressed the button for the 50th floor and it ascended smoothly, the motion barely detectable. Soon the doors opened with a soft "ping" and she found herself looking into a fairly large sized area done in blacks and reds and browns. She saw a ditzy looking blonde at a table close by.

            "I'm here to see Mr. Angel."

            The blonde looked up from her magazine at her, looked her critically over and did something that severely startled her. She yelled.

            "Hey bossman! There's someone with really bad fashion sense to see you."

            She felt incredulous. Didn't know whether to laugh or feel insulted. Bad fashion sense? She looked at what she was wearing: black top, jeans, boots and a leather duster. What was wrong with that?

            "Nothing, honey. Just really un-original in these parts."

            She looked at the blonde and raised an eyebrow.

            "Bossman!"

            "I told you not to call me that!" a male voice snapped. A tall man got out of a door behind her and her breath caught. Not because he was male, tall, dark and gorgeous. He was just…big. He was like a bear. Gruff and macho. She could tell he was the stoic, strong, silent type. But no, it wasn't because of that. It was because the second she heard his voice, saw him, a wave of familiarity so strong swept through her. His gaze locked on hers and she saw amazement in them.

            "CJ?"

            "Angel."

            The name rolled off her tongue perfectly. Familiarly. She heard the breathy tone in her voice, felt the confusion on her face. He must have noticed.

            "How've you been, CJ?"

            "It's…it's Carmen."

            "What?" he asked, sounding lost. "Who's Carmen?"

            "I am."

            She saw understanding dawn in his eyes and felt herself being perused critically. Then shook his head.

            "You don't remember, do you?"

            "Remember what? Who you are? Why you're so familiar? Why the name "Wolfram and Hart" is so familiar and sends the bad kinda tingles down my spine? Why you call me CJ, knowing that's my name? How you know my name? No, I really don't."

            "I…" he looked as though he was trying to remember something. Then shook his head.

            "Something's going on, I can feel it. Harmony, call Fred, Gunn, Cordelia, Wes, Lorne and Spike up here, now."

            "Will do, bossman."

            He winced. "And please stop calling me that."

            "What, bossman?" she asked innocently. He glared at her.

            "Yes. Bossman. Now go call the others."

            They were sitting in a plush office. The group was rather mismatched. There was a tall, slim, almost painfully thin woman in a white lab coat sitting on the arm of an armchair on which a tall, very good looking black guy in a suit was sitting in. he was smooth. Another woman sat on another armchair, looking elegant in an outfit she knew was good quality and designer. A man was standing, wearing dark blue trousers and a white shirt tucked into them. Polished black shoes were on his feet, his hair tousled, his glasses hooked on his shirt. Another guy, absolutely gorgeous as well, was leaning against a wall, looking at her warily. He was wearing black jeans, a tight black t-shirt and thick black boots. His hair was bleached a striking white blond, very Billy Idol, and he had amazingly prominent cheekbones. She got the same feeling out of this guy as she got from Angel.

            The door burst open and what appeared to be a green skinned man stepped through in a garish yellow suit so bright it almost blinded the eye. The fact that he had green skin didn't faze her. It might have been some accident. But the horns and red eyes were a bit too much.

            "Sorry I'm late, got held back by-"

            Whatever he was about to say was lost as he suddenly found himself staring down into the barrel of a gun. He gulped. It had taken no more than a split second. It happened so quick that no one in the room had any chance to react, to even notice. When they did, they all moved forward to stop her, but her words stopped them cold.

            "Come closer and your little friend gets a new hole to use."

            It was uttered in an absolutely calm tone, devoid of any emotion or inflection. It was the tone of a killer. They froze. She noticed a few of them might try anyway and almost grinned at that.

            "You didn't notice me draw the gun. What makes you think you'll be able to stop me before I can pull the trigger?"

            "CJ, calm down."

            "How about…no? I've had a stressful week, I've just moved to LA from England. I really hate to do this on my first day. I'm supposed to be relaxing, not square off with…what are you?" she asked the green skinned dude.

            "I'm a demon, honey."

            "Right," she rolled her eyes. "And I'm Anita Blake."

            "Who the hell is Anita Blake?" the black guy asked.

            She sighed. "Fictional character written by Laurell K. Hamilton in the Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series. Known as the Executioner for her skill with a weapon and her ability to kill what she hunts. Also a necromancer and part of a triumvirate with Jean-Claude, Master of the City, and Richard Zeeman, Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan. Nimir-Ra of the Blood drinkers Clan, she was passed with the _ardeur_ from Jean-Claude when the three married the marks in order for them to cease their weaknesses that appeared when the marks were open."

            "Ah yes, I remember that case."

            "What?" she looked startled. "You remember what case?"

            "The one you described. Ms. Blake lives in St. Louis and what you just described happened a few months ago, I believe."

            "Honey, I hate to break it to ya, but Anita Blake is a fictional character."

            "No, it's not."

            "Yes, it is."

            "I'm positive that it's not.

            "Well I'm positive of the opposite. Look, I have LKH's books, for God's sake. What does that say?"

            The whole time she was talking/arguing, her gun had been pointed steadily at the demon. Lorne was starting to sweat. He believed her when she said that she could put that bullet into him before anyone could do anything. Then again, it wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt. A lot.

            "Could you possibly argue about this, later?" Cordelia snapped. "She does have Lorne at gun point, you know."

            "CJ…"

            "I want to know what's going on, Angel. And I thought I told you the name was Carmen?"

            "Sorry," he raised his hands up in the standard "don't shoot me" gesture. The irony wasn't lost on her and she felt her lips quirk. Dammit.

            "Who are you?"

            She turned and saw that it was blondie that was speaking. It was uttered in a low tone, eyes never off of her face. His face was utterly blank and expressionless. She raised her eyebrow. Neat trick. She'd had a feeling that this guy was way too emotional to pull that one off. Guess not.

            "The name's Carmen J. Rivierra. And you are?"

            "William the Bloody. Spike."

            "Well, Spike, nice to meetcha. Damn well wish it wasn't like this, but hey. Apparently beggars can't be choosers."

            "Not that you are one," a soft voice came from the doorway. She stiffened. Everyone noticed how her face closed off completely. Her gun still pointed at Lorne, she turned to the voice.

            "Lin McDonald." Her lip curled. "What a surprise to see you again."

            "I've changed, Car."

            "You tell me that every time we see each other, Lin. What makes you think I'll believe you again?"

            "Because it's true," he said, quietly.

            "Bullshit!" she spat out, angrily. Her eyes flashed fire at him. "Guys like you don't change. They either become sharper or sloppy, but they don't change."

            "Miracles do happen."

            "Not to you, Lin. Not to you."

            "Car…" he made a move to go to her and her gun swung to him. That made him stop in his tracks. Unlike them, he knew exactly what she was capable of with a weapon. Especially when she was mad.

            "Stay away from me, Lin. Stay away from me and mine." She said quietly.

            "Cara."

            "Don't call me that!" her voice was as sharp as a whiplash and he winced. Then her voice dropped several notes. "Don't ever call me that again."

            "Car."

            "Stick to Lady Rothchilde if you want to address me, Mr. McDonald," she said, coldly. "Anything else will not be acceptable."

            "Lady Rothchilde?" a frown furrowed his brows.

            "I got married after you left, McDonald." It was said quietly. Lindsay's eyes widened in shock. "To James Edward Rothchilde. I figured I couldn't wait for you anymore, couldn't let you hurt me, anymore."

            "I said I'd come back, dammit!" he snapped.

            "But you didn't, did you, Lin?" she shot back. "You're still here. You didn't come back. Besides, I didn't want you to. I wanted to let go of that part of my life, Lin. I wanted to let go of you. I couldn't handle living like that. I couldn't handle what I'd let myself go through for you. I _hated_ myself when I was with you. You made me feel so…inadequate."

            "I made you feel inadequate," he was full out angry, now. "What the hell did you think I felt next to you, Car? Who was I? No one. Who were you? You were Carmen Rivierra, adventurer, part time bounty hunter, heiress to a great fortune which you were amassing from your archaeological expeditions and your shiftier dealings. You're beautiful, self assured, poised, and you can kick ass like no one's business. Again, _I _made _you_ feel inadequate?"

            "You never said anything!"

            "What the hell was I supposed to say, Car?" he exploded. "That you, my girlfriend, made me feel like I was less of a man, no matter what you did to make us seem equal? That even though I had assured you that I wouldn't feel any worse because you're bloody Carmen Rivierra, I went and did, anyway?"

            "It doesn't matter either way. What happened, happened. You left and you didn't come back."

            "I would've, you know."

            "Would you?" she looked at him, sadly. "It's been years, Lin."

            "I…I had to prove that I could do something by myself before I went back. I had to prove to myself as well as to you that I could do something by myself, that I could make something of myself. That I could be successful if I wanted to." He sounded ashamed. Sad. 

            "Of course you could've done something with yourself." Her gun had lowered. Her eyes were infinitely sad, glittering with unshed tears. "You could do anything if you wanted to, Lin. I always had faith in you, you just never had any in yourself."

            They all felt like they were intruding on a private moment. In fact, they were. But it felt so bad. The tension and the sadness and the frustration hung thick in the air. The two had a history. From what they were saying, they kinda guessed what happened. But they didn't really know. Wesley had recognised the name James Edward Rothchilde and was looking at her in shock.

            "Shut your mouth, Wes. Wouldn't want flies to get in, after all." Lindsay said, easily. But his eyes were still locked on Carmen's and hers on his. Wesley complied.

            "Did you say…James Edward Rothchilde?" he asked hesitantly. Carmen nodded.

            "Oh dear Lord."

            "What's wrong, Wes? What's up with the Rothchilde dude?" Cordelia asked.

            "Lord Rothchilde…he's a duke. Old family, he was the leader of the biggest business empire. He…"

            "He was an arms dealer." She answered calmly. "Well, that was his biggest enterprise. It was also supposed to be all hush hush and secret. He also owns a chain of highly successful hotels and restaurants around Europe and America and we've recently branched into Asia. He dabbled in the stock market and does real estate for fun. Jamie was…incredible. Whatever he put his hand to, he would be successful at. He was just like that. He was incredibly intelligent, honourable. But he could be ruthless." She shrugged. "He never showed that side to me. I accidentally walked in on him in a business meeting. All I can say is that I thank God he isn't in my line of work."

            "Was? You seem to be talking about him in the past tense," Spike asked, only mild curiosity tingeing his tone. Damn, he was good.

            "Was. He's dead."

            Silence reigned in the room as everyone looked at her, some with horror, and some with pity. Some with concern. In Spike and Lindsay's case, inscrutable.

            "I…I'm sorry."

            "Don't be," she cut in. "I've had time to deal. Not enough and I will forever mourn him, but mourning will not bring him back. And if I mindlessly mourn, I'd get myself killed. I still happen to like being alive."

            "How did he…?" Fred hesitated.

            "Die?" she smiled humourlessly. "You can say it, you know. I won't turn into a puddle of incoherent mush at the word. I've accepted that my beloved husband is dead. The only way I can possibly go is forward. If people tip toe around me, how am I supposed to do that?"

            "Okay. How'd he die?"

            She wanted to flinch. Said without inflection like that, it was…it hurt. It dug a deep wound in her because that was how she sounded whenever she talked about him or his death. If she didn't, she'd go insane. She would turn into the incoherent puddle of mush that she claimed that she wasn't. 

            "He was assassinated. Twelve shots to his chest. CSI haven't been able to solve it. I'm still trying. I swore that I would avenge my husband's death. I will make good with that vow."

            "Do you have any leads?" Gunn asked.

            "Specifically? No. Jamie had a lot of enemies. Now, so do I. He left me everything in his will. All of the property, the money, the belongings. All the businesses. Including his arms. But I've shut that down. I don't need income from that, anymore."

            "What's going to happen to the weaponry?"

            "Oh, they're all going to my private collection," she said casually. "It's becoming slightly extensive, but I firmly believe that one can never have too many weapons."

            "What kind?" Angel asked.

            "Guns, of all types. Bombs. Knives, daggers, swords… everything modern. But he also did the ancient, more antique ones. Axes, bows."

            "Your sword," Wesley nodded to the handle that peeked out of her coat. She replaced her gun back to her hip and shrugged out of the coat. They saw that the sword was long enough to go from the over her shoulder to her hip on the opposite side. She grasped the handle familiarly and pulled it out in one seamless motion. Everyone gaped at the blade.

            "A katana, a Japanese traditional ninja sword. Made of _lignum vitae_, the wood of life. The end of the katana is tilted at an angle, the better to slide into a person's body. Of course, if that person was susceptible to wood. However, this does work on humans as well. It's not as fatal as if the blade was made of some kind of metal, but it does harm. I have a silver bladed one at home, as well. My personal favourite is this one, but a close second is one made entirely of platinum. But that's more decorative than anything else." She replaced the katana back to it's sheath at her back in a practiced move. She then leaned down and took out her knife.

            It was slightly larger than an average sized dagger, the blade about 9 inches long. The hilt was covered in supple leather, and they could see markings on the blade itself. A single stone was in the hilt, a polished piece of Tiger's Eye.

            "Sacrimonial dagger, silver, nine inch blade. The carvings are charms placed onto the dagger when made. The hilt is covered with leather, for better hold. The stone is Tiger's Eye, giving protection to the wielder."

            She replaced the dagger and took out her gun. "This is more traditional. A Browning .9 mill, reliable. I've used this for as long as I can remember. I do use several other guns, I'm quite partial to Uzis and Firestars, and I don't mind Glocks. But give me a Browning any day. However, the barrel holds 3 rounds and the bullets themselves…" she released the clip and took out the bullets. They could see that it was bullet shaped glass casing enforced with steel. There was some kind of bright blue liquid in it.

            "Liquefied UV. It's like Sunlight harnessed as a weapon. I've also got this:" she took out another clip from her pocket and took a bullet out. The same basic structure, the only difference being the liquid was silver, almost like mercury. "This is filled with Silver Nitrate."

            "What kind of people do you hunt?" Gunn asked, his eyes lighting up as he watched her toys. She replaced the Browning and looked at him in the eyes.

            "All kinds. I'm not stupid. I don't kid myself. For example, I know that Angel's a Vamp. So's Spikey boy over there. This one," she gestured towards Cordy. "Doesn't feel right, either. Like human but not. The not part feels kinda like green boy over there."

            "So you believe in Vamps, but not in demons?" 

            "Sometimes," she looked up, her eyes deadened. "Sometimes it's easier to act stupid, to be in denial. If only for my own peace of mind. It's bad enough the damage that humans can do. add that to those of Vamps, shape shifters and, if what you say is true, demons…then all hope is lost. We're outnumbered."

            "We might be outnumbered," Fred said, quietly. "But there is always one of us who is willing to keep on fighting. No matter what. And that's what counts. That we keep on fighting the good fight. And some of them aren't bad. Angel and Spike might be Vamps, but they're good Vamps. Shifters don't tend to be violent. Well, only if provoked. Some of them have excellent control over their beasts. They're not all evil. And demons are like humans. They come from other dimensions. They're not all bad. Saying all demons are evil is like saying all of mankind is evil. We're not, they're not."

            "I know," she sighed. "I'm just…I'm still new at this. I don't do preternatural stuff. I deal with humans. I deal with the norm. there might be sick, twisted bastards out there, but I don't do, like I said, do preternatural stuff."

            "How'd you start?" Angel asked quietly.

            "I got attacked."

            "You what?" Fred gasped. She walked forward, pulled down the slightly high neckline of her black top. There were scars on her throat. But they were clean ones, not the ragged tears of fledglings. This looked to be from a powerful vamp. Possibly a Master Vampire. 

            Spike couldn't tear his eyes away from the scar. He stepped forward and traced a finger lightly over the ruined skin. She stiffened, and the next thing he knew, he had a stake over his heart.

            There were gasps and a few people moved forward. She quirked up an eyebrow. He hadn't moved, just looked at her calmly.

            "Looks like you're not as popular as green boy in these parts," she drawled. "You really should be afraid, you know."

            "Normally I would, but you didn't mean to do that. That was automatic."

            She raised an eyebrow and pressed down slightly, just breaking skin. "So sure?"

            "Yes."

            She laughed and stepped back. "Good call. Sorry. I just…don't like anyone touching my neck."

            "Being attacked does that to you," he agreed easily. "Should we call a truce?"

            She looked down at his proffered hand and smiled. "That would be nice."

            "Welcome to Wolfram and Hart, special division," Angel said, lightly. "You'll be one of our agents?"

            "Who said I was looking for a job?"

            "I feel like I know you, CJ. And those feelings tell me that you're not a sit tight kinda girl."

            "True. But I could hunt by myself."

            "How about this: I promise you that we have lots of action. You work for us, you get daily (or nightly) slayage duty. You look like the type to enjoy that."

            "That sounds good," she agreed. "But I hear an _and_ there."

            "And we'll help you find out your husband's killer, why you're getting the tinglies around the supernatural and where the memories come from."

            She looked thoughtful. "You know, I never really thought of myself as a bounty hunter, before. More as an adventurer. But bud, you've just got yourself a deal. I feel like little miss bounty hunter at the moment. Can I kick ass?" 

            He laughed. "There's plenty of time for that."

            "Actually," Harmony interrupted. "We've just got a call. 2 Dettanos Démons. Six Vamps. Three Elloi Demons. They're all in an abandoned warehouse on 31st street."

            Angel turned to Carmen. 

            "Welcome to Wolfram and Hart. That's your first assignment. Elloi demons only die by beheading and burning, Dettanos demons die from…well, if you shoot it enough, or behead it, of cut up enough pieces of it, it'll die. I'll be easier to hit the heart, which is on the left shoulder. Spike will go with you."

            "Well." She said after a moment of silence. "I did want some action. Come on, Billy Idol. Looks like we've got a job to do. Lead on."

            "She's going to kill me," he said calmly to Angel. She laughed.

            "Not yet, love. I have to play with you, first."

            "Why does that sound even more ominous?" he asked rhetorically, grabbing his leather duster on the hook behind the door.

            As they left, the group inside could hear them talking.

            "So, you've got a ride, right?"

            "Don't you?"

            "Are you kidding? I walk. Besides, a vintage green Jaguar isn't really that subtle."

            "Vintage? What make?"

            "1956 roadster…"

            "Do you think that was a good idea?" Cordelia asked, quietly. Angel looked up, sighed. 

            "I don't know, Cordy. I really don't. But there's something about her that I trust, absolutely. I have a feeling that if my life was on the line, she'd fight for it."

            "You don't usually trust this quick, Angel," Gunn said, cautiously. Angel sighed again.

            "I know. That's what worries me. I just…I feel like I know her. I know it must be some kind of spell, but I just…I just feel like I know her."

            "Whether you trust her or not," Lindsay said, quietly. "She'll do whatever it takes for you, for us, for this company, because she feels that she owes you. She helps whoever deserves helping and she helps those that help her. You fit into both categories. She's loyal. She's patient. She's also ruthless. You won't find a better body guard…or a friend."

            "You and I nee to have a talk about some things, McDonald," Angel said. "Specifically stuff that's just been uncovered, tonight. I want to know how you know her, when you knew her, what happened and why. Do you get me?"

            "I get you loud and clear."

            "Good. I guess all we have left to do is wait."

Alright, that's the first chapter. Hopefully this is successful. I know that this doesn't really sound like any of the AtS characters. Truth be told, I haven't really seen AtS, most of the stuff I get on the episodes are from Fanfics. However, I will try and do as best as I can. 

Don't go yet. Review…you know you want to…


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